September In Neon Blue
by Sacred Dust
Summary: "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." These words will change Sandi Griffin's life forever. Set after Season 5.
1. In Which I, Like, Make a Promise

_This story is for anyone who thinks there could be more to Sandi than her tyrannical Fashion Club persona. What made her the way she is? Is there good inside of her, and what if she had no choice but to find out? Set in the FC girls' senior year after 'Is It College Yet?' All readers and reviews are welcome._

**September in Neon Blue**

Chapter 1: In Which I, Like, Make a Promise

Ω Ω Ω

In my unappreciated and severely underpaid opinion, people like THIS poisonous young female are the chief inspiration for the conspiracy theory of REPTILIAN BEINGS living among us. She is a VICIOUS social animal who has been going at it WHITENED tooth and PAINTED nail since she started her OVER-PRIVILEGED life here, and seems to find happiness ONLY in the SUFFERING of others. I could be persuaded to give a more detailed evaluation in exchange for some PROFESSIONAL DIGNITY!

-May 2002 Report on Sandi Griffin, by Anthony DeMartino

Ω Ω Ω

It was a cloudy Sunday afternoon of drifting leaves and gusting winds, but this was Sandi Griffin's time to shine.

As president of the former Fashion Club, Sandi had scheduled a major shopping spree at Cashman's. Her senior year at Lawndale High started in two days and time was short. Spurred on by the promise of a Labor Day weekend sale and armed with her mother's platinum credit card, she was ready to spearhead this trip and judge her friends' clothing choices with a most critical eye. Not for any particular reason, but because Sandi was used to doing just that. The formal dissolution of the Club that summer should be no obstacle to the principles she had learned: take control, be the best and don't bother to be nice about it. Actually, don't bother being nice about anything.

The day had gotten off to a discouraging start; Quinn Morgendorffer was the first of the four fashion-crazed girls to get her driver's license and proudly showed it off by driving them herself to the Cranberry Commons mall. When Quinn pulled her father's Lexus up to Sandi's opulent house, a clueless Tiffany Blum-Deckler was already ensconced in the front passenger's seat—a place Sandi had naturally assumed for herself. This left her stuck in the back with a typically anxious Stacy Rowe, while Quinn prattled on about passing her test on the first try. (Sandi herself had made four attempts and failed, something none of her friends needed to know about.)

These minor annoyances only strengthened her resolve. Sandi reasserted her authority before they even parked—"Gee, Quinn, I hope you are turning this vehicle due to a previously undisclosed nerve disorder, and not parking us next to that Pontiac Aztek"—and began directing operations as soon as they walked in.

Quinn was struck with wonder by the huge crowds, Stacy vibrated with excitement and pointed in the direction of some new stores, and Tiffany appeared to be mesmerized by the ceiling lights. Sandi rolled her eyes. "Girls, if you are finished gawking like amateurs, I would appreciate a _moment_ of your attention," she handed them each a copy of the shopping plans she had written up last night. "This is our schedule."

"We need a schedule for looking at clothes?" Quinn stared doubtfully at the paper. She had always been the troublemaker of the group.

Sandi crossed her arms. "Quinn, a sales event of this magnitude calls for extensive preparations. I cannot leave the former Fashion Club to flounder in an ocean of competitive shopping."

"Wow, Sandi! The font you used here is _really_ cute!" Stacy gushed.

"It's soooo redddd," droned Tiffany.

"Well spotted. Now if you would care to _read_ your directions…" Someone muttered something on her left. "Did you have something to add, Quinn?"

"Of _course_ not, Sandi." The redhead tittered nervously.

"It is now three-thirty PM. We are to proceed directly to Cashman's, without being sidetracked by new stores like Spendster's Really Stupid Gifts or Sir Sav-a-Lot's Medieval Emporium, neither of which we will be caught dead in _anyway—" _A sharp glance at Stacy, who whimpered an apology. "—And stay together to ensure that proper selections are made. We will break for the fitting rooms in 45 minutes and go to the food court at half past four. Any questions or comments?" Sandi's raised eyebrow indicated this suggestion was not sincere.

Such nuance was lost on Tiffany. "Thiiis paperrrrr is soooo smoooooth."

"Um, Tiffany dear, just stay close to us and refrain from touching sharp objects."

"Huuuuh?"

The first part of the trip went according to plan, with Sandi leading the way into Cashman's Department Store and Quinn and Stacy making suggestions. Autumn-colored tops and pastel capris were snatched up; whites were naturally avoided. As they neared the middle of the store, Sandi scoffed at a new rack of distinctive dresses. "Honestly. Slip dresses, vertical stripes and metallic sheens are firmly _out_. Does this establishment believe three wrongs make a right?"

She knew she'd slipped up when the others stopped and looked at her. "Um, actually Sandi, that's…" Quinn hemmed and hawed. Stacy held out the new issue of _Waif _while Tiffany needlessly said "Looook." It was an article on these same dresses, suddenly back in vogue.

Sandi turned pink. "Naturally I _knew_ that, Stacy. I was simply making conversation to distract the rest of us from your wildly inappropriate eyeliner."

"Eep!" Stacy cringed and covered her eyes. "B-but this is the kind I always use!"

"More's the pity," Sandi smiled at her friend's embarrassment and led on.

Quinn stared after her a moment, then took one of the new dresses and passed it to Stacy. "Never mind that. It'll look good on you." She whispered.

Stacy brightened. "Even with my eyes?"

"Your eyes are fine! Don't let her get to you."

"Are you _coming?" _Sandi glared in their direction and continued past the rack, upset with herself for missing the article. She had that magazine right in front of her last night, but it went unread with the distractions of typing the schedule and her mother's heated argument over the phone with her father.

The back end of the store was less interesting; they already owned several of the rhinestone belts and pairs of flare jeans on display, and Sandi had to divert them from summer leftovers that were no longer season-appropriate. Her hawkish gaze scared off any lightweight shoppers nearby as they commandeered the fitting rooms. By the time they were finally done sampling, adjusting, swapping and comparing, a small crowd was waiting outside.

The fashion slaves ignored the angry grumbling on their way out, but were momentarily accosted by a heavyset old woman with a yellow housedress and a walker. She scowled at them for a moment and then loudly proclaimed, "You are most certainly too young to be wearing those clothes!"

The other girls examined the floor. Sandi glared back and gave a snide reply. "Why, thank you, madam. We are always grateful for unsolicited fashion tips from people in girdles."

"You're quite an unhappy little person, aren't you?" the woman sighed. She looked more disappointed than angry as she shuffled on.

Sandi fumed as she made her way to the checkout, too angry for words. Who did that woman think she was? Quinn and Stacy had to scurry to catch up with her. Tiffany went at her own pace.

Unfortunately, the only open register lay between two large boxes of 99-cent panties. Sandi grimly set her jaw. "There is nothing to see here. Do not look to the left or right." The others murmured in agreement.

"How y'all doin'?" The countrified checkout girl shouted at them.

"Wonderful, until I heard your voice," Sandi handed over her few dozen selections, turned back and froze. Tiffany was staring blankly into one of the dreaded bargain bins, a helpless human being suddenly confronted with the void.

Time seemed to slow down as Sandi went to stop her, knowing she would be too late. "Tiffany! Noooooo…" The fashionista's hand reached down into the bin.

Quinn pulled her back just in time to avert the crisis. _"Ewwww!_ Tiffany, I can _not_ believe you almost touched those!"

"Sorryyyy. I wasn't thinkinnnng."

"How unlike you, Tiffany," Sandi muttered.

Finally they all escaped Cashman's with their purchases. Sandi was as bothered by her fashion mistake and the old lady as anything else, but her friends were there to blame. She turned on them and whipped out her copy of the shopping plan. "Very unfortunate. Thanks to _someone's _little foray into bargain bin purgatory, we are now 17 minutes behind schedule."

"I'm really sorry! It won't happen again!" Stacy squeaked out of habit.

"Stacy. For once, _your_ incompetence was not the problem here. Kindly stay out of this."

"Um, Sandi, I think you're taking this schedule thing a little too seriously. I mean, we accomplished our goal, right?" Now Quinn was butting in.

Sandi felt really cruel today. Something in the back of her mind told her to stop, but she had learned to ignore that voice a long time ago. "Did we? Gee, Quinn. I wish I were gifted with _your_ baffling optimism after losing nearly 20 minutes of food court time we will never get back. Although come to think of it, it looks like _you've_ already been there."

Something inside the cute redhead seemed to snap.

Instead of her usual placatory response, she retaliated. "Sandi, the freakin' mall doesn't close until six, okay? We'll ride the elevator to the fourth floor so you can criticize how I push the buttons. We'll order our food and you'll say stuff about Stacy's waistline until she freaks out and won't even drink water. Then we'll go home and you can call Tiffany _later_ and yell at her for one mistake! How's that for a schedule?"

Sandi blushed furiously, astonished at Quinn's rebellion. "Gee, _Quinn!_ How unusually perceptive of you! Have you thought of bringing your sudden gift to the rest of the world?"

"Have _you_ ever thought about being nice for once in your life?" Stacy shouted. She clapped her hands over her mouth, but the damage was done.

"Your controoool issues are soooo uglyyyy." Tiffany followed.

The snowball had become an avalanche, and silence fell in its wake.

Sandi wanted to cry, or panic, or apologize. Her pride allowed for none of those. "Well, then. If that is how you really feel, then you are excused from suffering through the rest of this trip with me."

Quinn frowned. "How will you get home?" No 'oh, Sandi' this time.

"I will 'control' someone else into giving me a ride," the fallen idol snarled. "Now, goodbye."

She stepped into an open elevator. The doors closed and she was gone.

The other girls took a long look at each other, and a silent understanding was reached. They picked up their full shopping bags and walked out.

Ω Ω Ω

Sandi stepped out into the food court. The weekend crowds were thinning, but she wouldn't have noticed if the place were empty. Gathering storm clouds could be seen through the skylights, as if in sympathy with her mood.

With nobody she knew around to see her, Sandi ordered a cheeseburger and tried to process what had just happened. Her so-called friends chose to be totally uncooperative with her attempt to organize things, and sabotaged her well-intentioned plans…no, that wasn't honest at all. But she wasn't ready to face the ugly truth.

_To regret is to be weak. To apologize is to admit weakness. People like you are above these things._

Were these her thoughts, or her mother's? The difference had not previously been clear. She was everything Sandi wanted and expected to be.

So why did her heart feel like it was going to burst?

The burger was gone before Sandi realized it. She grimaced and crumpled up the bag. That was all she needed, to get fat again-and this time she would have nobody to whip her back into shape. Lightning flashed in the evening sky as she trudged back to the elevator. Still lost in her thoughts, she did not immediately notice who was inside with her.

"Fancy seeing you again," a gravelly voice coughed. She looked up to see the old woman from Cashman's, walker and all, studying her with a dubious expression.

"Did you, like, take a wrong turn back to the nursing home or something?" Sandi tried to ignore the woman's labored breath and perspiring face. Was she sick?

"Hmph. No respect these days, no respect at all…" the lady trailed off into a hacking cough.

Sandi flinched and was about to make another remark—'change that dress and then we'll talk,' perhaps—when the elevator went dark and stopped. A terrible clap of thunder outside indicated what had just happened. "Great. The perfect end to a perfect day."

"It's going to get even better," her companion wheezed.

"Excuse me?"

"My pills are down there. And I'm up here."

"…Oh." Sandi's eyes widened.

The woman grabbed her shoulder and sank back against the side of the elevator, breathing harder. The thunder crashed again.

"Um...just try to stay calm. Breathe, and stuff!" Sandi had no experience with medicine or helping others, but she knew enough to call someone who did. "I'm calling 911, okay?" By the time she was done stuttering into her cell phone, the lady looked worse. "Hey. They're coming. You just have to hang in there until someone opens the elevator. Do you have someone in your family we can call?"

"Hmph! _You're_ as good as any family I have now," she half-laughed, half-coughed. "Except for my grandson. Don't trouble yourself, child."

What came next was a blur. Some people in white pried the elevator open and put the lady on a stretcher. Sandi didn't think; she followed them as if she had nowhere else to go. When they reached an ambulance waiting in the parking lot she yelled "she's my great-aunt or whatever" and was allowed to ride in back. The woman was hanging on, but definitely in trouble. Sandi glimpsed her own reflection in the window. She didn't even think to check her hair.

"Miss," the paramedic yelled, "Your aunt. What's her name?"

"Um…Ms. Walker," Sandi mumbled. It was the only thing she could think of.

The old woman opened her eyes and lifted a corner of the oxygen mask so she could talk. "You're still here?" Sandi thought she would cry if she said anything, so she just nodded. "That's a surprise."

"Don't die, okay?" there came the tears. She'd never done something like this, but suddenly it meant everything to her. She didn't even hear the siren or see what the paramedic was doing.

"My, you're a confusing girl," Ms. Walker's voice was growing faint. Sandi leaned closer. "So you want to help me?"

"Gee, old lady. What _else_ would I be doing here?" She sniffled.

"Then help yourself. I saw…you arguing with your friends. Promise me something," Ms. Walker rasped. She reached up and grabbed Sandi's wrist. _"If you can't say anything nice…you won't say anything at all."_

Sandi stared down at her, trying to see if she was serious. She was.

"Try it for a week. You never know." The woman closed her eyes again.

Through Sandi's angst came a daunting certainty that her life was about to change. "I…I promise."


	2. In Which My Life Is Totally Over!

"_If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." How many of us have actually taken that advice? And how hard it would it be for someone who can only communicate negatively? I guess Sandi is going to find out._

Chapter 2: In Which My Life Is Totally Over!

Ω Ω Ω

DAY ONE

When Sandi opened her eyes the next morning, the clock on her dresser said 11 AM.

_How unfashionable. I never sleep that late. It is almost like my body didn't _want_ to wake up today. I wonder why—_

The events of yesterday came flooding back. Shopping. Arguing with her best friends. A lady having a heart attack in the elevator. A promise inside an ambulance.

They had arrived at the hospital a minute later, and Ms. Walker was taken somewhere Sandi couldn't follow. So she sat in the waiting room and listened to the storm outside. In a surreal moment, she found the latest issue of _Waif_ on the table and saw the striped dress article she missed. The magazine had never seemed more artificial and meaningless. Sandi buried it under all the others. Finally a doctor with a bad hairpiece walked in to tell her the old woman had stabilized and would probably make it. Relief washed over Sandi like a tidal wave. She was happy without quite understanding why, and the confusion left her exhausted.

She called her mother Linda, who arrived with a barrage of irritated questions: why hadn't she come back with her friends and what in the world was she doing at Lawndale Hospital. Sandi was in no condition to explain, and she didn't get it herself. She nearly fell asleep in the car before they made it home, and the next thing she remembered she was…here.

She hadn't even changed for bed.

"Yick," she muttered to herself. "Gee, _Mother,_ you could at least have—" She stopped.

"_If you can't say anything nice…"_

"Oh, no," Sandi lay back down on the bed. "Did I really make that promise?"

She did. It seemed right at the time, but now the other shoe had dropped and squashed her flat.

How was she going to talk to her mother? What would she say to her friends—if they _were_ still her friends? How would she order a veggie pizza? Wait…why couldn't she just ignore it and talk like she always did?

Because it would be like mixing plaids: fundamentally wrong. She could still feel Ms. Walker's hand on her wrist.

Sandi felt like an old lady herself when she stumbled out of bed and towards her bathroom, trailing clothes until they were gone. _Clothes, _she thought, and froze naked in the doorway. _I left all the new clothes I bought in the elevator._

Perfect. She slammed the door, stepped under the hot water and resigned herself to what would undoubtedly be the worst day—no, make that the worst _week_ of her life.

"Hell_-ooo. _I mean, um…hello, how are you today?" She practiced. It came out sarcastic and accusing. On second thought, what didn't? "Good to finally see _you_ out of bed…" Nope. That sounded like her mother on a good day, polite but not really nice. "My, what a _nice_ jacket, Stacy! I love how it minimizes your many figure flaws." No, backhanded compliments probably didn't count. "Um, I will have a medium veggie. If you can get it here on time for—I mean, please." Better…

Sandi practiced lightening her tone as she shaved her legs. She nicked herself behind one knee, so that helped. Sitting at the vanity to apply her makeup, she tried not to scowl or smirk at everything—what was the use of saying nice things with a mean expression? But it seemed impossible. She would turn away for a moment, look again and see the same old Sandi.

It was noon when she finally chose an outfit (the same one she wore every day, that is) and ventured out of her room. She was tested instantly by the sight of her two little brothers fighting in the upstairs hallway.

_Get out of my way, you little brats. Gee, try to fall down the stairs for me._ Her mouth opened. "Good morning, Sam. Good morning, Chris. How are you today?" Generic and a little phony, but technically nice.

The boys stopped fighting and stared at her like she'd just arrived from Mars. "Uh, it's not morning anymore," stammered Sam. "Are you gonna tell on us, meanie?" snapped Chris, the younger one.

"Um, no. Just be careful. I don't want you to fall down the stairs like I did." _Until I get the camera._

"What's up with you?" demanded Sam. "You're talking all weird."

"Yeah, are you retarded or something?" Chris made a face.

_Don't use that word, you little creep._ "Yes. I am fine."

They jumped up and started in on her as she walked past them. "Crazy girl!" "Cuckoo, cuckoo!" "Her makeup went into her brain or something!" Sandi was red-faced and angry before she made it down the stairs.

She found her mother in the kitchen—not cooking, of course, but looking through the cupboards for something. "Damn it, I _know_ all of his stuff is already out of here. That lawyer of his can go straight to…_hello,_ darling," she broke off when she saw her daughter. "It's good to _finally_ see you out of bed."

Did she know her mother or what? Sandi would have come back with her own abrasive greeting, but… "Thanks, Mom. How are you?"

The businesswoman's eyebrows shot somewhere into the stratosphere. "Er…very busy. In case you were still too sleepy to notice." Okay, maybe it wasn't a good day. "Can you believe your father? I just don't know when he's going to move on." She shook her head airily and turned back to the shelves.

Sandi felt a familiar rush of anger. How dare she complain about him in front of her. But then, hadn't she always? "Mom, you don't have to spend a holiday like this. Can't you just relax and forget about that?"

As she usually did when other people spoke politely, Ms. Griffin lost interest and went back to what she was doing. "You are still such a child, Sandi dear. You will understand when you're older."

_Oh yes, Mother. You are being _such_ a good role model for me. _Sandi had to bite her lip. "Okay. I just thought I would ask."

Ms. Griffin glanced at her again, this time like she was some kind of rare insect. "Darling, are you feeling sick? I would hate to think you caught something during your little adventure in medicine."

_Yes I did,_ Sandi thought desperately. _Take me back to the hospital for a week. With my own room, so I do not have to speak to anyone else._ How would she ever last seven days like this? It took only a few minutes for her mother to make a comment so insincere that it could only be answered with something equally sharp…and she couldn't bring out the hatchet.

For the first time Sandi noticed the radio was on. "This is the story of how one night can weigh a ton," someone sang. No kidding.

"I am going to lie down for a while!" she practically fled the kitchen.

Her mother didn't even look up. "What an exciting change of pace for you, dear."

Thankfully the upstairs hallway was now empty. Sandi locked her door and leaned against it, breathing like she'd just run a marathon with one of those tacky numbers on her chest. She felt frail and exposed, like the last of a dying species…not even a cute and fuzzy one.

Was this how it felt to be a "nice" person? How did they get out of bed in the morning? No wonder her family wasn't like that—it saved them a lot of trouble. But then how come they didn't seem happy?

_What about me? Am I just like the old woman said? Before that artificially coiffed doctor came into the waiting room, was _I _happy?_

Sandi didn't want to think about it anymore. Your brain could drive you crazy if you gave it a chance, and then you had to spend all your time thinking, like Quinn's weird sister. She looked around for something to do but came up empty. There was nothing good on TV yet, there was nothing to read except old fashion mags, and her makeup and exquisite brown hair were already done to perfection.

With great reluctance, her eyes came to rest on the phone.

Ω Ω Ω

No one was short of things to do in Chez Morgendorffer. Helen was on her cell phone as usual, pacing around the kitchen yelling at her boss about having the nerve to call her on Labor Day; Jake seemed oblivious as he gleefully stirred up a pot of a horseradish stew for lunch. Daria winced at the noise (and the smell) as she tried to watch Sick Sad World in the living room. It didn't help matters when the phone rang right next to her head.

"Damn it," she sighed. "Quinn? _Quinn! _Phone!"

The evil machine continued. Daria snatched the receiver. "Morgendorffer Psychiatric Ward. Can I help you?"

A rich, halting, oddly accented voice answered her. _"Um…hi, Quinn's cousin or whatever. Can I talk to someone here? Like, please."_

"Is this a trick question?" Definitely one of the fashion drones.

"_Okay, I mean can I talk to Quinn. It's kind of an emergency." _The girl sounded as though she were reading from a script.

"Theoretically, yes. Unfortunately, the fact that you're talking to _me_ means that—" Daria stopped, hearing footsteps on the stairs. "Hold on. I'm detecting signs of superficial life."

Quinn didn't look at her sister or the mildly amusing show in the kitchen. She made a beeline for the front door with purse in hand.

Daria held out the phone. "Um, Quinn. Trouble in fashion paradise."

Quinn paused nervously with her hand on the doorknob. "Who?"

"I think it's the one you're always sucking up to."

"Tell her I'm not here." Quinn glared as she shut the door behind her.

Daria blinked and brought the receiver back to her ear. "Sorry. All evidence to the contrary, it seems she is not here."

There was an exasperated sigh on the other end. "Gee, thanks a _lot_, Quinn's…I mean, thanks anyway."

Ω Ω Ω

Stacy sat cross-legged on her bed, studying her purchases from the day before and wondering what to wear for the first day of school tomorrow.

_Hmm…the red turtleneck sweater is soooo nice but it might be too warm for this time of year and it doesn't really hide my shoulders as well as I thought and I just know someone will notice so never mind that for now._ _What next…OHMIGOD_ _there it is. The Forbidden Dress, the one Sandi was so against the other day but Quinn told me to buy anyway and I did and I tried it on and loved it and it did make up for the shoulders which is always important, but what if Sandi saw me wearing it, and on second thought maybe the world wouldn't end if I did something Sandi didn't like because it was her own fault for not seeing it in the magazine not that I would ever tell her that but she's going to be so angry at me after yesterday so maybe I shouldn't make it worse when she sees me tomorrow—_

RING.

"Eep!" Sandi jumped, even at the familiar sound of her phone. She took a deep breath and reached for the receiver as if it might bite her. "Er…hello?"

"_Stacy? I—"_

"Ohmigod I'm so sorry Sandi!" Stacy cried in panic. "I got the dress you didn't like and I yelled at you yesterday but you were being so mean and I know it hurt your feelings but please forgive me OH GOD OH GOD I'll never do it again!" She dropped the phone and ran out of her room crying.

"_Hello? Stacy? Um, hello? …Damn. I was being nice and everything."_

Ω Ω Ω

Due to no small amount of desperation on the caller's part, Tiffany's phone rang next. Unfortunately she was out, and the answering machine picked up.

"_Helloooo. This iiiiis Tiffanyyyy…Blum-Decklerrrrr. I caaaaan't come to the phoooone." _Pause.

"_I'm…probablyyyy out shoppinnnnng…or somethinnnng." _Longer pause.

" _If you're calliiiiing to talk aboooout…fashionnnnn…please press onnnnnne. If yooooou're…"_

Click.

Ω Ω Ω

Lawndale Hospital was aptly located north of the high school, with its undersized football team and accident-prone faculty, and west of Seven Corners, Lawndale's most confusing and dangerous intersection. Its staff was surprisingly competent. But they had to be in a city that was itself a haphazard place, from its uncertain history to its awkward and sprawling construction. Ms. Walker had never had much use for it aside from occasional shopping trips like the one yesterday.

_And look how that ended up_, she said to herself grouchily. But things could be worse. She was alive, the doctors were nice, and her health insurance was valid. Now if only these people could remember an old woman's name…

"Here you are, Ms. Walker," chirruped a nurse as she came in with a lunch tray. She looked impossibly young.

"It's _Clinton_, dammit," Ms. Walker insisted, more in weariness than anger. "Mary Anne Clinton. Why can't anyone get my name right in this establishment?"

"Sorry, Ms. Clinton. One of our medics got that name from the girl who came in with you last night, and I guess that's the one that got around."

The woman sat up in bed to accept the tray. "Ahh, yes…I remember her. Now why would she call me Ms. Walker…" She stopped and remembered her walking aid. "Oh. That little smartass."

The food was edible, especially the jell-o. Visiting hours started right after lunch, but she doubted anyone would show up to harass her. The suburbanites around here didn't leave themselves much time for acts of random compassion, and as for her family…they probably didn't even know she was here and that was just as well. Maybe she could finish that romance novel today.

But her hopes were dashed when another nurse gently rapped on the door. "Good afternoon, Ms. Walker. You have a visitor!"

_Must be some mistake._ Not bothering to correct the misnomer, she sighed and looked up from her book. "Who is it?"

She was taken further aback when a familiar girl with fashion model hair and an uppity voice walked in. "Um…like, it's me."


End file.
